The One
by Mummyluvr
Summary: He had the perfect life with a perfect girl.  The life may not have been real, but the girl was, and it was only a matter of time before Dean tracked her down. Continuation of The Picture.
1. Prologue: The Picture

This first chapter should look familiar to a few of you. I finally got around to writing a follow-up to my one-shot "The Picture." For those of you who don't want to look for it, I turned it into the prologue of this story. Enjoy!

**Title:** The One

**Summary: **He had a perfect life with the perfect girl. The life might have been a fake, but the girl wasn't, and it was only a matter of time before Dean found her again.

**Rating:** T

**Warnings:** Nothing too bad, but I do enjoy messing with Dean. Look for my darkside to come out around Ch. 5 :)

**A/N:** The story takes place a couple of weeks after "What is and What Should Never Be." The finale hasn't happened yet.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing in Supernatural is mine. It belongs to Kripke. if the show was mine, Dean would have become a murderous psychopath a looong time ago (think Ben in Dark Angel).

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**The One**

**Prologue**

_The Picture_

He wasn't supposed to find it, he was sure of that. It was supposed to be hidden, and Dean always hid things for a reason.

He almost felt guilty, sitting on the edge of the bed, the twenty bucks Dean owed him completely forgotten as police sirens screamed in the distance and the shower pounded in the background.

What's hidden should stay hidden, just like the dead should stay dead, and what is should never be. Still, he couldn't help but look.

It had been all folded up in Dean's wallet and had tumbled out when Sam had gone looking for his money. Dean had given him permission to go through his wallet and find what was owed him before stepping into the bathroom for a shower, so it wasn't technically snooping. He'd probably just forgotten about the picture. No big deal.

Really, it was nothing special, nothing important. Just an old liquor ad clipped out of some magazine or another. The edges were crumpled and torn and the crisp fold lines were visibly white, almost worn through. The beautiful face of the young model in the center, however, was unmarred.

There was only one real flaw on the picture, other than the obvious wear-and-tear. It had Sam thoroughly confused. It looked like a drop of water had fallen on the page at some point, a big spot where the ink had bled and colors had run together.

If he hadn't known any better, he would have said it was a teardrop. But Sam _did_ know better. This was Dean's picture, and Dean didn't cry often. Even when he did, it wasn't over some nameless model in a magazine ad.

No, it was just a drop of water.

o0o0o0o0o

Dean Winchester was not a religious man. He did not pray. He knew that there was nothing watching out for him. He knew that all the good in the world was destroyed by evil and that happiness had no place in his life. Still, he prayed for one thing.

He prayed for a ghost, harmless yet annoying. He knew where he wanted it to be, who he wanted it to haunt. Every single night, he wished and he prayed, even though wishes don't come true without a price and angels don't keep Winchesters company.

He'd looked up her address online after his little acid trip. He'd thought about going to her, about searching out the elusive comfort and warmth that lay within her loving embrace.

But what would he say?

The truth would send her running, but lying wouldn't be right. She needed to know, needed to love him for _him_, just like she had before.

So he prayed for a ghost.

Dean kept tabs on her, checked the websites, read the news reports. He looked at her picture every night, imagining how lucky he could be, remembering the feel of her lips against his own.

If anything started to happen, he would go to her, pack up the Impala and head out. He would do his job, have a valid reason. Sam wouldn't question, and even if he did, Dean wouldn't answer.

He would save her. He would look into her eyes, searching for recognition, and, not finding it, tell her. He would be honest and upfront. Her house was haunted. He would know, of course, because he had prayed for it.

She wouldn't believe him, would call him crazy, and he would leave. He'd go back, though, to save her.

She would be scared, would need strong arms to run to. Dean would happily oblige.

She would believe, and he would be honest. She would be his, and he would be happy.

Until then, though, he had his picture. He pulled it out and looked at it when Sammy wasn't around. It was a reminder of happier times, of true love, of what could have been.

He was going to ask her to marry him. Someday, she would say yes. Until then, he would sit up at night and just stare at her, fighting back the tears that sometimes broke free and scarred the image.

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All caught up? Good. Looking forward to the first chapter? Even better! Reviews make the world go around :) 


	2. 1: Wishin' and Hopin' and Dreamin'

Well, I'm glad some people are looking forward to this continuation. As always, I'm relaly lovin' everyone for reviewing. It really does keep me going!**

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**Chapter 1**

_Wishin' and Hopin' and Dreamin'_

The house was perfect. Warmth and comfort and love flowed through it and Dean could hardly believe that it was all his. It had taken a couple of months, but the guy upstairs had finally come through for the eldest Winchester in the form of a particularly weak poltergeist.

It had been almost two years since the noisy spirit had been quieted and a little over a year since the wedding Dean had never thought he could have. He glanced at the sleeping form in the bed beside him and smiled. Carmen had rolled onto her side in the middle of the night and was laying in the same position she had been the first time he'd ever laid eyes on her.

He rolled out of bed and shuffled down the hall, heading to the nursery and his little baby boy. He still couldn't believe how well things had worked out, how quickly the time seemed to fly, how every moment of pain he'd ever suffered through was made ok by the fact that he'd actually gotten something he wanted. He'd gotten his family.

He stopped in the doorway to his son's room, staring in at the sleeping baby, smiling to himself. The boy had his mother's eyes and his father's mouth. He was perfect in every way, everything his father had ever wanted in such a small package that it was almost silly. He was normal. He was safe. He was loved. And nothing could take that away.

"Dean?"

Dean turned, smiling at his wife as she walked up and wrapped her arms around him. "Hey. What are you doing up?"

"You're not the quietest person in the world," Carmen smiled.

"Sorry."

"Looking in on Joey again?"

Dean nodded. "I still can't believe it."

"Believe what?'

"Everything," he shrugged. "You. Me. Him. This house. This life. I never thought… only in my wildest wishes, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. You told me."

He grinned, turning and wrapping his arms around her waist, looking into her eyes and seeing forever, _his_ forever, a forever he'd never thought possible. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

He leaned in to kiss her, still amazed that each time they touched was like the first, like a dream, so soft and caring and warm.

And then she was gone. His arms were empty, the house had vanished, and he stood instead in an old warehouse. He spun around, recognizing the place, searching for her, knowing that she would never leave him, not again, because she loved him.

"Dean?"

She was standing there, so perfect, so real, so loving. She wasn't alone. Sam and Jess and his mother were there, too, begging him to stay, pleading with him to give in to temptation for once and let himself be happy.

He looked down at his hands and found the knife there, poised next to his stomach. He wanted to put it down, wanted to stay, wanted to take his second chance and never lose it, keep what he had, stop while he was ahead, let himself be happy. He couldn't stop himself from plunging the bloody knife into his stomach, from adding physical pain to emotional torment.

He fell, sliding down to the floor, sprawling out on his back, letting the pain of a life unlived wash over him. He jumped as strong hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up, pulled him out of his chance to get everything, pulled him back into reality.

o0o0o0o0o

Dean opened his eyes to see Sam hovering over him, hands on his shoulders, shaking him away. "I'm up, I'm up," he grumbled, struggling to push his brother off of him.

Sam stumbled back, almost falling off the bed. "Nightmare?" he asked.

"No," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes, "lollipops and candy canes."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Do I ever?"

"Come on, man," Sam pushed, "you haven't gotten a decent night's sleep since we left Illinois. I'm worried about you."

"Well, could you worry outside my bubble for once?" Dean snapped, "I don't know what's worse, having to deal with the same stupid dream every night or having to wake up with your rank breath in my face. Honestly, have you ever heard of mouthwash?"

Sammy rolled his eyes. "If you don't want to talk about it, just tell me."

"I did tell you," Dean pointed out, "you didn't listen."

Sam slid off his brother's bed and stretched. "Fine. We're up, we might as well get a head-start on the day. You want to shower first, or should I?"

Dean smirked. "You need it more, Princess."

"Bite me," Sam muttered as he grabbed a handful of clothing from his duffle bag and stalked off toward the bathroom.

Dean laid back on his bed and closed his eyes, knowing that it would be almost impossible to fall back to sleep with the nightmare still so fresh in his mind. He groaned and forced his eyes open again, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and heading for his own duffle. He pulled out yesterday's jeans and searched the pockets until he found what he was looking for.

The hunter plopped back down on his bed and opened his wallet, pulling out the now-tattered ad that he had hidden there. "One day," he whispered, stroking the model's beautiful face, "I won't have to wake up."


	3. 2: You Just Might Get It All

Really really short chapter today guys. Sorry about that. They will get longer, I promise :)**

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**Chapter 2**

_You Just Might Get It All_

Dean stared at the computer screen as the shower droned on in the background. He blinked. He rubbed his eyes. He hit the refresh button more times than one person should be able to in the span of a minute. The page was exactly the same. The headline didn't change.

"Model's home trashed," he whispered, eyes skimming the page, "Carmen Porter, a rising star in the modeling industry, returned last Wednesday from a shoot in Vancouver to find the interior of her modest Beverly Hills home completely destroyed. There were no signs of forced entry and the starlet has no conceivable enemies."

Dean sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. It was hard to believe, too good to be true. His prayers had actually been answered, and it hadn't taken nearly as long as he'd dreamed. It had only been two weeks since he'd killed himself to live, and things in reality were finally looking up for him.

The hunter pushed the laptop away and pulled his father's journal toward him. He flipped open the book as the shower turned off, and was in the middle of searching for information on poltergeists when Sam stepped out of the bathroom.

"What's up?" the younger man asked as he pulled a shirt over his head.

"Found a hunt," Dean replied, struggling to keep the smile off his face.

"Where?"

"Beverly Hills. Some model went away for a photo shoot and came back to find her house totally trashed."

Sam shrugged. "Vandals."

"Only the inside was trashed and the cops couldn't find any signs that someone had broken in."

"What do you think?"

"I'm thinking it's a poltergeist. Maybe a weak one, or something, if it's only doing its thing when nobody's home."

"I don't know, man."

"We've looked into less," Dean pointed out, "besides, it's California, land of sun and fun. Even if it's a bust, we can take another vacation. Our last one kind of got sidetracked."

"Fine," Sam sighed, shaking his head and splashing droplets of water on his brother, "but no more lot tours."

Dean grinned. "Don't tell me you didn't hear that the Gilmores got cancelled? Come on, man, there's nothing left to be afraid of in California."

"What about-"

"Smallville shoots in Canada. Trust me, Sam, you don't have to worry about any sexed-up CW stars attacking you. The network added new hotties this season to cut down on that. They'll be too busy staring at each other to stare at you."

Sam blinked. "We need to get you out of this room. TV's rotting your brain. Not that you had much of a brain to begin with."

"So it's decided," Dean grinned, choosing to ignore his brother, "California, here we come!"


	4. 3: And Then Some You Don't Want

Ha. Finally, a long chapter. Please enjoy as I rip your hearts out and stomp on them with what is possibly the best cliffhanger EVER!!!!**

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**Chapter 3**

_And Then Some You Don't Want_

Dean wasn't really surprised to find his hand shaking as he reached for the doorbell. He just hoped that Sam didn't see it, because that would lead to questions, and questions would lead to talking, and talking only ever seemed to lead to fighting and guilt.

Sam didn't seem to notice, though. He was gazing around the small neighborhood, looking at the kids riding their bikes on the sidewalks and the people getting their mail or mowing their lawns.

He finally turned back to the house after Dean had rung the bell and shoved his trembling hands into his pockets. "I can't believe it," Sam muttered, shaking his head, "you said she's some kind of model?"

"Yep."

"And she lives _here_?"

Dean glanced up at the house, a structure obviously built for a middle-class family with a dog and 2.5 kids, and shrugged. "Not everyone is Paris Hilton, Sammy."

"Just doesn't seem like the superstar thing to do," Sam said, "that's all."

"You know, some celebrities live in trailers or crappy little apartments. Some of them never leave the set."

"Whatever," Sam shrugged, wondering why his brother was making such a big deal of the model's living arrangements. He reached past Dean and rang the bell again before rapping loudly on the door. "Maybe no one's home."

Dean shook his head. "No. She has to be here. The place is haunted. We're here. She's home."

"Maybe she had another shoot."

"I said she's here," Dean snapped.

"All right. Man. Maybe she's in the shower or something."

"Maybe."

Sam eyed his brother, looking him over quickly and noticing that his jacket was shaking. "You all right?"

"What? Yeah, fine. Why?"

"Your hands are shaking," the younger man observed, pointing at Dean's pockets.

"Cold."

"You sure? Because it's, like, ninety degrees out here. You've been acting weird ever since you found this job. What's up?"

"Nothing," Dean defended, reaching out and hitting the doorbell again, "I'm fine."

"You seem kind of freaked."

"It's nothing, all right? Just some random girl with a random supernatural problem. It's nothing unusual for us, nothing different. Sam old, same old."

"Ok," Sam said, holding up his hands and backing away a step, "whatever. I give."

"Thank you," Dean muttered as the door began to creak open.

"Who is it?" a soft voice asked.

Dean gulped. He knew that voice, recognized it instantly. He heard it every night in his dreams, had latched onto it like a drowning person grabs hold of a lifeline, had stored it away in the farthest recesses of his mind where nothing could take it away.

"We're interns with your agency," he lied smoothly, "they sent us over to help clean up the mess."

"Oh." The door was pulled open to reveal a beautiful twenty-something with long black hair and deep, understanding eyes. "Sorry. Come on in."

The brothers stepped through the door and into the house. Paintings hung off walls, glass vases had been smashed on the floor, plaster was cracked, paint was chipped, wallpaper was ripped, and furniture had been completely demolished.

"I'm Carmen, by the way," she smiled, holding out her hand. Dean took it without a second thought.

"Dean," he replied, smiling as his hands finally stopped shaking and his heart began to slow, "and this is Sam."

"Nice to meet you," she said, "um, follow me, and keep your shoes on. Wouldn't want to add blood into the mix."

Dean grinned, finally letting go of her hand and following her through the house. "So, you, uh, were out of town when this happened?"

Carmen nodded. "Yeah. I was at a shoot out of the country and when I came back," she swept her arm out over the mess that had once been her living room, "I found this."

"Anything like this ever happened before?" Sam asked, gazing around the room and missing the way Dean glared at him.

"Once. I was here the last time. It was right before I left. I was asleep and I heard noises coming from the kitchen. I went to investigate and found the fridge door open with all the food splattered on the floor. I didn't even have enough left to make breakfast the next morning."

"You eat breakfast?" Dean asked in mock amazement.

Carmen shrugged. "What can I say? I have no willpower. Thank goodness for the plus-size circuit, huh?"

"I think you look perfect."

She smiled. "Thanks." She led the brothers through a maze of debris, careful to point out treacherous spots along the way. "So," Carmen announced as the trio walked through a door and into another mess, "this is the kitchen. It all started in here."

The brothers picked their way into the room, gazing at the destruction around them. Drawers had been pulled open, their contents spilled across the hardwood floor. Cabinet doors hung off hinges and food littered every area that wasn't covered by utensils.

"You weren't kidding about eating," Dean said, turning back to Carmen and flashing a smile, "even I couldn't shovel all of this away."

"Trust me," Sammy grinned, "he's tried."

Dean socked him in the shoulder. "What my friend means to say," he defended, "is that I'm not exactly a stranger to fine dining."

Carmen smiled. "Well, it doesn't show."

"Thanks," Dean replied, "I work out."

The model laughed. "I bet you do. So, where do you two want to get started?"

"Right here's nice," Sam said, leaning down to inspect an interesting combination of Lucky Charms, Cool Whip, and old sushi.

"Hey," Dean said, turning to Carmen and flashing another dazzling smile, "why don't you and I go talk while Sammy here starts to clean up this mess?"

"Talk about what?"

Dean shrugged. "What you think happened. How someone could have done this. Why anyone would want to. Who might have some kind of vendetta against you. Life in general."

"I'd love to," Carmen said, "I really would. Maybe a fresh perspective could help me make some sense of all of this. I can't, though."

"Why not?" Dean asked as the door to the kitchen opened and a tall man with a shaved head and more than a few tattoos entered.

"I've got a date," the girl admitted as the stranger wrapped an arm around her waist. "This is my boyfriend, Dave."


	5. 4: Research and Observation

Nothing can ever be easy for Dean. I'm glad you all have come to that conclusion. Let's just see what happens, shall we?**

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**Chapter 4**

_Research and Observation_

"Did you see them?" Dean muttered through clenched teeth as he swept broken glass into a dustpan, "all lovey-dovey, kissy-wissy. It's disgusting."

Sam rolled his eyes. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're jealous."

"Who, me? Never."

"Sure," Sammy grinned, "you like her, don't you?"

"No. She's taken. Off the market."

"That's never stopped you before," the younger man pointed out.

"It will this time," Dean sighed, straightening up and grimacing as his back popped. "Tell me again why we're playing maid?"

"You're the one who came up with the whole 'interns sent to clean up' bit."

"How long you think they've been together?"

"Who?"

"Carmen and Dave."

Sam shrugged, leaning the mop he'd been using up against the wall. "Who knows? It's not important."

"Maybe it is."

"How could it possibly be important?" Sam asked, stumbling out of the room as he tried to avoid a few of the bigger pieces of broken glass and china that covered the floor, "and try to walk and talk at the same time, here, Dean. They won't be gone long."

"They'd better not," Dean muttered as he followed his brother.

"What's that?"

"What if it's him? Spirits have been known to latch on to people or families. He could have brought it with him."

"That's kind of a stretch," Sam said as he pulled out his EMF and began sweeping the living room.

"Maybe he's possessed, then," Dean attempted, "trying to get close to Carmen so he can kill her."

"There's nothing showing up in here," the younger hunter muttered, moving on to the next room.

"That's because it's following him."

"It's not Dave."

"How do you know?"

Sam spun around to face his brother and grinned. "I'm psychic."

"Yeah? And you did a bang-up job of figuring out that Meg was possessed. Or that the demon was using dad for a meat puppet. Or that Andy's evil twin was right under our noses. Or that-"

"Ok, I get it," Sam groaned, "it's an on-again off-again kind of thing. Man, you don't have to rub it in."

"I'm just saying that we should check him out."

Sammy shrugged. "What could it hurt?"

"Great," Dean grinned, "I'll cover that as soon as they get back, and you can keep on with the spring cleaning. If you hurry, maybe you can even work some research in before bedtime."

"Oh, goody."

o0o0o0o0o

Dean looked at his watch and groaned to himself as the seconds ticked slowly by. She should have been back. Sam had already finished tidying up the kitchen and had gone back to the room to shower, look into the history of the house, and try to get the many food stains out of his favorite pair of jeans. That just left Dean to wait for Carmen, and it was taking a little more time than he'd thought.

He turned toward the front door as he heard it creaking open. It didn't take long for Carmen to step into the house and look around, spotting Dean in the torn-up chair in the corner.

"Thought you guys were gonna clean up," she joked.

Dean shrugged, pushing himself out of his seat. "It's gonna take more than a day to tackle this pigsty. Kitchen's pretty much done, though."

Carmen nodded, picking her way across the room. "So, where's your buddy?"

"Went home to get the ketchup out of his jeans. Where's _your_ buddy?"

"Just dropped me off. You, uh, waiting for something?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "you, actually. I was kind of hoping that we could talk."

"Well, it's kind of late-"

"It won't take long. I promise."

"Fine," she sighed, plopping down on the broken chair, "what do you want to know?"

He smiled. "Just tell me about yourself."

"I'm a model," Carmen said, "I don't know if you've ever seen the El Sol ads, but that's me. I met Dave at one of my shoots. He's a photographer. We've been together for about half a year now."

"It's serious, then?"

She shrugged. "You never know in showbiz, but I'd like to think so."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks. Um, anyway, that's pretty much it. I like hanging out with friends on the weekends and this whole thing has got me pretty spooked. Just the thought that someone could break in and do this without leaving any clues."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, it's pretty scary. You know, Sam and I are staying in a motel in town. It's not the best place in town, but it's probably safer than here. If you want to stay with us, I can make him sleep in the shower or something."

"That's sweet, but Dave already offered to let me stay with him."

"You gonna take him up on that?"

"You really think I would have come back to this dump if I had? No, I want to prove to whoever did this that Carmen Porter doesn't scare easily."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean grinned, "but you seriously don't know who could have done this?"

"What can I say? I'm a lovable person."

The hunter nodded. "Right. So, uh, where exactly does Dave live?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I'd like to ask him a few questions, too. You know, maybe this wasn't about you. Maybe it was about him."

"I can give you his cell number," Carmen said slowly, "but I don't think he'd like a complete stranger to come knocking at his door in the middle of the night."

"No problem. I can ask him over the phone."

o0o0o0o0o

Sam stared at the laptop screen without really seeing it. There was nothing wrong with the house, nothing wrong with the neighborhood, nothing wrong with the entire town (besides the obvious kookiness). It didn't make sense.

That was just the beginning, though. He had an uneasy feeling about the whole hunt. It was too small for Dean to have just randomly stumbled across, and there was something about the way the elder brother looked at the latest damsel in distress that didn't sit right with Sam.

Carmen was a mystery in herself. Sam could have sworn he'd seen her somewhere before, but he just couldn't place her face.

Something was wrong, he could sense it. He just didn't know what.


	6. 5: Wrong Answer

Now we're getting to the good part. This is one of my favorite chapters, and I really hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do. :)**

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**Chapter 5**

_Wrong Answer_

Drizzle blanketed the Impala as it sat in the street, its only occupant carefully dialing his cell. He held the phone up to his ear and listened to it ring. Finally, after the fourth ring, someone answered.

"Hey," Dean said in his best buddy-buddy voice, "is this Dave?"

"Sure is. And you are?"

"Dean. I was at Carmen's place today. My friend and I were helping clean up."

"Yeah, yeah." Recognition. "I remember you. Everything all right?"

"Sure is. I just need to ask you a couple of questions about the house and the break-in and things in general."

"Why do you need to know about that?" Suspicion.

"Ms. Porter's agency is really thorough when it comes to the safety of its employees."

"Guess that makes sense," Dave said, though he still didn't sound convinced.

"Great. If I could meet you at your place-"

"No. I'm not too keen on inviting strangers in after what happened to my girl, so-"

"We can meet somewhere else, then," Dean interrupted, "I drove by this neat little café on the way into town. Maybe we can meet up there?"

Silence on the line, then, "where is it?"

Dean smiled.

o0o0o0o0o

"_My girl_," Dean sneered as he gazed out the rainy window at the dark surroundings, "who the hell does he think he is? He doesn't have to right to… I mean, she's _mine._ She's the one."

He reached across and popped open the glove compartment, searching around inside until he found what he was looking for. "Just in case," he muttered, tucking the gun away in his jacket.

He knew that what he was considering was insane, illegal, and would earn him a stern lecture from Sammy. The only problem was that it seemed right. He'd been the one sucked into a nearly perfect world where he'd had the option of falling in love and not being rejected, of starting a family of his own. He'd been the one to tear himself out of his dream only to find that the women he'd loved was real. He'd been the one to pray for her house to get trashed. The fact that she might be taken had never crossed his mind.

He could take care of it, though. Eliminate the competition and take her back, hold her in his arms, be happy again. All he had to do was pull the trigger. Dave wasn't even supposed to be there, he wasn't part of the original equation. Really, it was for the best.

Dean was pulled from his thoughts by a loud rapping on his window. He started and turned to see Dave hunched over against the rain, peering into the car. Dean smiled and opened the door, stepping out onto the wet concrete.

"Sweet ride," Dave gushed, running a hand over the hood, not noticing the grimace that crossed Dean's face as his enemy caressed his baby.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, slamming the door, "so, what do you say we talk?"

"I thought you said there was a café here."

"Did I?" Dean asked, feigning shock, "huh."

"All I see are closed-down buildings and creepy dark alleys," Dave pointed out, "maybe we should go somewhere else."

"This is fine."

"This is where the druggies hang out."

Dean wrapped an arm around the other man's shoulders. "That's the least of our problems. I think someone's after you and Carmen."

"Any ideas?" Dave asked, resisting a bit as Dean lead him toward one of the alleys.

The hunter shrugged. "Not on her side. She's perfect. No one could hate her. _You_, on the other hand, may have some enemies."

"Don't think so. I'm a pretty likable guy. I've got tons of friends on myspace."

"I'm sure you do."

"So, anything else you want to ask me? Because Carmen's house getting torn up had nothing to do with me. I was with her when it happened. I'm her photographer. None of my friends have vendettas against either of us. They love her almost as much as I do."

Dean nodded. "All right. You're free to go."

"If that's the case," Dave said, trying again to pull away from the hunter as they walked farther into the alley, "you can let go of me now."

"Right. Sorry about that." Dean took his arm from the other man's shoulders. "Look, I'm sorry if I freaked you out. This whole thing has just got me nervous. I mean, no signs of a break-in, everything in the house destroyed. It's weird."

"Sure is."

"So, how long have you and Carmen been together?"

Dave blinked. "About half a year, but that's none of your business."

"Yeah, you're right. Do you love her?"

"Of course I love her. What is this?"

"Would you ever think about leaving her?"

"No. We're in love. I would never-"

"Not even if someone threatened you?"

"You-"

"How much do you love her?"

"I'd give my life for her."

"Really?"

"Of course. Now-"

"Do you love her enough to spend the rest of your life with her?"

"What kind of question is that?"

Dean sighed, sticking his hand inside his jacket and feeling the cool metal of the gun. "If you asked her to marry you, what do you think she'd say?"

Dave smiled. "Yes."

Dean pulled his gun. "Wrong answer."


	7. 6: Brutality

Sorry about the delay, guys, especially after that last chapter. Had to finish HP7, didn't I? Anyway, here's Chapter 6, part of the reason for the rating. Yes, I know... I'm sadistic :)**

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**Chapter 6**

_Brutality_

Sam ran his hands through his hair and picked up the remote as the shower started to run. Dean had been gone most of the night and had hardly said a word all morning. The younger man hadn't attempted to talk to him, was too lost in thought himself to even consider striking up a conversation.

There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, a queasiness that shouldn't have been there, a sense that something was off, that something was wrong, that this hunt was different. He turned on the TV, flipping channels without really paying attention, lost in his own head. He jumped as a loud thump sounded from the bathroom, followed shortly by a muffled cry of 'damn soap!'

Shaking his head and grinning, Sam settled on the local news. It was going to be a hot summer, some firemen had saved a little girl's kitty from a tree, and a local photographer had been found dead in an alleyway.

Sam turned the volume up, staring intently at the screen as the newscasters reported that David Everett had been found early that morning, already dead, in a bad part of town. His body had been taken to the local mortuary and funeral services were pending.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Sam turned off the television, grabbed his jacket and the Impala's keys, and headed out the door.

o0o0o0o0o

A single bullet hole marred Dave's forehead, the deep crimson contrasting painfully with the dead man's pale skin.

"Bullet to the head," the man who had let Sam into the room to see the body reported, "that's what killed him."

Sam nodded. "A bullet. That's weird."

"Oh, there was more than one," the man, who really looked no older than seventeen, smirked. He pulled down the pristine white sheet, letting it drape over the end of the table, to reveal the lower half of Dave's body. "The murderer was a sick bastard, but creative."

Sam took a steadying breath as he gazed at the bloody carnage that sat between David's legs. "You mean that someone actually-"

"Shot him in the nuts," the guy reported, nodding, "yep. Like I said, it was a twisted son of a bitch that did it."

"That didn't come from one bullet," Sam reasoned, turning his head away.

The man nodded, finally noticing Sam's disgust and covering the body back up. "Someone emptied a clip into him, all right. Shot him in the head, then decided to mutilate the corpse. It's just wrong."

"Yeah. So, where did you say they found the body?"

o0o0o0o0o

"Poor Dave," Dean sighed as he hunched over the two pools of blood that had long-ago dried on the cracked concrete, "nobody deserves that."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, surveying the crime scene, "killing someone and then desecrating the body like that. It's disturbed."

"I don't think he was dead when the killer desecrated him, Sam." Dean straightened up and pointed to a large blood splatter on the brick wall near where the body had fallen. "Dave was a tall guy. A shot to the head wouldn't have hit that low."

"You think the killer shot him in the jewels before actually moving in for the kill?"

Dean nodded. "Looks that way." He bent back down by the blood. "The shot that killed him went straight through," he observed, pointing to a little dent in the stained street, "he fell before he was killed."

Sammy shook his head. "This doesn't make sense."

Dean shrugged, standing back up and stretching his arms over his head. "Whatever did it was a major nut-job," he muttered, "no pun intended. Let's head back to the room and do a little more digging. Maybe there's a story behind the alley."

"The whole town's clean."

"Maybe we're missing something. Couldn't hurt to look again."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I guess. Hey, where were you last night?"

"Come on, man," Dean smirked, "you don't want to know that."

"Yes, I-"

"Trust me. You don't."

Sam rolled his eyes in response to the look on his brother's face, a look that said more than any graphic description of a drunken one-night stand ever could. "Yeah. I'll just use my imagination."

"But you still won't get the half of it," Dean grinned, winking as his little brother shuddered in disgust.


	8. 7: A Shoulder To Cry On

Hm... where'd everyone go? Oh well. Time for chapter 7!**

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**Chapter 7**

_A Shoulder To Cry On_

"Vengeful spirit," Dean said, nodding once.

Sam shook his head. "When have you ever known a vengeful spirit to use a gun?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe it's the ghost of a cowboy."

"You don't honestly believe that, do you?" the younger man asked, rolling his eyes.

Dean sighed and started pulling at a particularly stubborn thread that was sticking up out of the comforter on his bed. "Shapeshifter, then. It turned into someone Dave knew and killed him."

"Why?" Sam asked, leaning back on his own bed and staring up at the ceiling.

"Maybe it wants Carmen. Maybe it broke in to steal some clothes and ransacked the place so they'd never notice that the stuff was missing. Maybe it wants to be her, or be with her, or something sick like that."

"Maybe it wasn't anything supernatural. Maybe it was just some psychopath who wanted Dave dead."

Dean stopped picking at the blanket. "Come on, man. How many times has it actually been a human? Besides, why kill Dave? Where's the motive?"

Sam sat up suddenly and locked eyes with his brother. "Carmen."

"What?" the older man asked, loose thread forgotten as his brother stared at him, stared through him, seemed to read him.

"Carmen," Sammy repeated.

"So you're going with my shifter idea?"

"No. She's not the motive. What if she's the killer?"

Dean let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "She wouldn't kill her boyfriend, Sam."

"How do you know? We just met her."

"I just do, ok? She's not like that. She's a good person, and she just lost someone really close to her. She doesn't need us poking around in her garbage looking for bloody clothes."

Sam nodded. "You're right. She should be mourning now. We've got a perfect cover."

"What?"

"We go over to comfort her and look for something out of the ordinary."

"You didn't hear what I just said, did you?"

"If she's innocent, she won't have anything to hide," Sam pointed out, "besides, she's gonna need a shoulder to cry on."

o0o0o0o0o

She was still beautiful, even after the tears had streaked through her make-up and turned her eyes red, even with snot bubbling out of her nose, even when all she could manage to put on were sweats. She was the girl he'd always wanted, the girl he'd almost had, the girl that wouldn't stop hanging on his brother.

"So," Dean said, a little louder than he'd intended, as Carmen wrapped her arms farther around Sam, "Dave didn't have any enemies?"

She sniffled, using Sammy's jacket as a hanky. "No. Neither of us do. I know it sounds corny and conceited, but everyone loves us. Or, they loved him. Before…"

Dean nodded, scooting a little closer to her, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder as Sam flashed him a look that clearly said he was uncomfortable. "Come here," he said softly, waiting for her to fall into him.

Carmen shook her head. "I can't," she sobbed, "I can't live without him."

"You'll move on," Dean insisted, "I know it sounds awful, but you'll get back out there and meet someone else, someone really great. You'll be happy and safe and loved. We'll spend the rest of our lives together."

Sam started, pulled out of his apparent discomfort by his brother's words. He watched Dean as the older man tried again to move Carmen into his arms. It didn't seem like he'd noticed the slip. Neither, apparently, had she.

"I know it's gonna sound inconsiderate coming from me," Dean continued, "but I lost someone earlier this year. My dad. We were really close, and him dying… it really hit me hard. But time went by and I got over it. It got better." He looked at Sam, frowning at his brother's expression. "I mean, it definitely took some time and a bruised cheek," he added, figuring Sam was giving him that odd stare because of his semi-lie, "but I got over it."

Carmen shook her head and leaned in closer to Sam, wrapping her arms more tightly around him and burying her head against his chest. "It just hurts so much."

"I know," Dean whispered, his voice cracking as he finally pulled his hand away from her shoulder, "that kind of hurt doesn't go away, but it can get better with help. Maybe we can help each other?"

Sam sighed, finally pulling his eyes from his brother. He hated seeing the older man like that. He seemed so broken, so desperate. It was almost like he loved her, like he'd loved her for a long time.

That was when it all clicked together in his head, the picture, the hunt, the lust. Carmen was the model from the beer ad in Dean's wallet. That was where he'd seen her before, that day in the motel room, so long ago.

That single revelation raised a torrent of disturbing questions. Why Carmen? How long had Dean had her picture? Had he been stalking her? Was it even a real hunt? Did he love her? And, if he did, wasn't it awfully convenient for Dave to die while they was in town?

Sam cleared his throat and attempted to pull himself out of the deathgrip Carmen had him in. "We really need to be going now," he said, pushing her roughly away.

Dean reached out and caught the model as she fell backwards. "Hey, man, what's your problem?"

Sam glared at him, noticing with unease that Dean's arms had wrapped themselves around Carmen's shaking form. "I just thought of something," he answered, "something important. It'll help."

"Care to enlighten us?"

"Can't. Not here. I think it might be too much for Carmen to take right now."

Dean got to his feet. "Do you know what…?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I think I've got it."

"Well, great," the elder smiled, sitting back down and wrapping his arms around Carmen's shoulders, "you go take care of it, and I'll make sure Carmen's all right."

"I think she'd be better off if you came with me," Sam argued.

"Can't leave her alone."

"I need your help with this. I need you to help me figure this out, Dean."

"Thought you said you had it."

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I have an idea, but I need you to either back me up or laugh in my face and call me crazy. Come on, man."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You ok?" he asked, turning to face Carmen and smiling softly. She nodded as he ran a calloused hand down the side of her face and stood up. "Guess we're off, then. I'll be back, though. We can talk some more."

Carmen nodded again. "Thanks," she said softly, still choking on sobs, "Sam, thanks a lot."

Sam watched as something like anger flashed over his brother's face before Dean turned to him. "Coming?" Dean asked, his voice cold, as he pushed past the younger man and staggered through the debris toward the door.


	9. 8: Bound

Well, time for another personal favorite chapter of mine, where all of your questions will be answered :)**

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**Chapter 8**

_Bound_

"What was that all about?" Dean demanded as soon as the brothers had stepped back inside the room they'd rented. "Couldn't you see how upset she was?"

"Dean."

"Do you even know how rude that was? She probably hates us now. You just ruined everything.

"Dean. I know."

"Yeah, right. You made that perfectly clear. What is it?"

Sam sighed and sat down on his bed. "It's her. It's you. What's up with you?"

"Nothing," Dean said quickly, folding his arms over his chest, "is that what you wanted to tell me? You think I'm having some kind of breakdown?"

"I think there's something up with you and Carmen."

"There's nothing up between us," Dean growled, anger in his eyes, "she's too busy hanging all over you to even notice me."

Sam shrugged. "That shouldn't be a problem."

"What do you mean?"

"You can just kill me."

"Sam," the elder groaned, anger melting from his feature as he fixed his brother with an exasperated gaze, "we've been over this. I'm not gonna kill you."

"Even if I make a move on Carmen?"

"You wouldn't."

"I think she's hot."

"Don't."

"Wanna know what I'd like to do with her?"

That anger was back in Dean's eyes. "Don't. Man, I'm serious."

"I'd tie her to the bed, gag her. I'd have my way with her." He winked. He never saw Dean lunge at him, only felt his brother's hands close tightly around his neck, nails digging into skin and drawing blood. Sam gasped for breath, trying to push his brother off, but Dean wouldn't budge. The last thing Sam heard before passing out was Dean yelling that she wasn't like that. He didn't know her. She was respectable.

o0o0o0o0o

Sam slowly came to, his mind drifting. He remembered finding Dean hanging in the djinn's lair, far too weak and pale. He remembered finding the picture in his brother's wallet. He remembered Dean attacking him.

"You did it, didn't you?" Sam asked, his voice barely a whisper, throat throbbing with the effort of speaking. "You killed Dave."

Dean walked into Sam's field of vision, tying a knot into a blue bandana. "How'd you figure it out?"

Sam looked around him. He was sitting in the closet, his hands tied tightly behind his back. "Let me out and I'll tell you," he rasped.

Dean grinned. "No can do, little bro. See, I can't have you messing this up for me."

"Why not just kill me?"

"I told you before, Sam. I can't do that. Not ever. I'd rather die."

"But you'll tie me up in a closet?"

"Just until everything works out. Trust me, it shouldn't take long."

Sam sighed and let himself relax, sliding farther back into the closet and a little nest made of blankets from his bed. "Why?"

"Why what? Why'd I kill Dave? Why'd I tie you up? Why do I do anything that I do? It's because I'm selfish, Sam. I'm a selfish bastard who only thinks of himself. I'm tired of thinking that I have everything and then watching it get ripped right out of my grubby little hands."

"What are you talking about?"

Dean knelt down on the floor just outside the closet, looking in at his brother with pity in his eyes. "You remember that supernatural acid trip I took a couple of weeks ago? That other world I went to, the one where everyone was happy? Well, I left out some stuff. See, mom was alive and dad was at peace and you were engaged and I had a girlfriend. The crazy part is that she actually loved me. Not like lust, not because she liked the way I looked. She knew me, and she still loved me. Flaws and all. She didn't leave."

Sam shook his head. "So?"

"So, when I left that world, I left her. I knew I could never have that. I'm a freak. Nobody could possibly know me and love me. They'd be crazy to. But Carmen did."

"It was Carmen?" Sam asked, his voice barely audible, eyes watering from the pain in his throat. "The girl you loved was Carmen?"

Dean shook his head, smiling. "No. The girl who _loved me _was Carmen. I thought I'd never see her again, but then," he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and pulled out the picture, holding it out for Sam to see. "Then, I found this. She's a real person. I could actually get something I want without having to try and fail and get hurt again."

Sam gazed at the picture, the beer ad ripped from a magazine. His eyes fell on the little spot of water, the place where the colors had bled together, and he understood. "You really expected her to welcome you in with open arms even though she'd never even met you?" he wheezed.

Dean nodded, carefully placing his prized picture back into his wallet. "Sammy, don't you get it?" he asked, smiling softly, "she's the one."

"No, Dean, she's not. That was an illusion, a dream. You saw the ad in a magazine, remembered it, and the djinn turned the image into the girl of your dreams. None of it was real."

"But she is. I am. She loves me, she just hasn't realized it yet."

"This is crazy," Sam whispered, "we need to leave. Untie me and we'll go. Anywhere you want, huh? Maybe the Grand Canyon? Amsterdam? Back to Hollywood?"

"The only place I'm going," Dean said, standing up, "is Carmen's. And you're not gonna stop me." He leaned down and placed the knotted bandana in Sam's mouth, tying it in place. "Don't worry," he grinned, "I'll come back for you. I'm not gonna leave you." He closed the closet door.


	10. 9: For A Change

Well, I'm back from the Simpsons Movie (LOL). Here's another chapter!**

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**Chapter 9**

_For A Change_

He sat on the couch in the destroyed living room, his arms wrapped around the sobbing figure of his future wife. He muttered over and over that it would be all right, that she'd find someone else, someone better.

She looked up at him, her face shining, make-up washed away. "Thanks, Dean," she said, sniffling a bit, "I don't know what I would do if I had to be alone in this."

"No one likes to be alone," he reasoned, "I think that's why people find each other. I think that's why we found each other."

She smiled. "Tell me about your dad."

"He was a mechanic. After my mom died, though, I guess he decided that wasn't the best career path. He started hunting. Big stuff, you know? Stuff that could tear off a limb or something. He took me out on the road with him. He left me alone a lot with my brother. I was older, so I had to take care of him. Dad never told me to take care of myself, it was always my brother. I think dad liked him better, you know? He was perfect at everything and I just kind of got overlooked."

"That's terrible."

Dean shrugged. "I grew up with it. Didn't think it was so bad. And then they both left, my brother first, and then my dad. I didn't know what to do. Went and found my brother at college. He didn't want to stay with me, though. He had a girlfriend. Kind of like he was rubbing it in. He had everything I wanted, and he wasn't gonna share." He glanced down at her and saw the fresh tears forming in her eyes. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bring you down."

"It's ok," Carmen said, "it sounds hard. I'm afraid I can't relate. I was an only child. My folks adored me. Dave kind of had a rough time, though. Foster care. His parents weren't really that great. He was kind of messed up when I met him. I guess I thought I could fix him."

"Did you?"

She nodded slowly, a small smile working its way across her face. "Yeah. I think I did."

He gulped. "Think you could maybe try to help me? I can repay the favor. Your house is a mess and I did kind of promise to clean it up."

"Um, where's Sam?"

"Oh, uh, he's gonna be kind of tied up for the next few days."

"Well, then, I guess it's just the two of us."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. So, um, I hate to ask, but you wouldn't happen to have a spare room, would you? Sammy's gonna hate it if I keep going back to the room. Like it's my fault he's got stuff to deal with. He always blames me."

"Actually, I do have a guest room. It's right up the stairs, first door on the left. It's a little trashed, but if you clear off the bed it's livable."

"That's great," he smiled, "just let me go get my stuff out of the car and we can start the clean-up."

o0o0o0o0o0o

She really was beautiful. No wonder she was the one. He'd obviously hit on her, she'd fallen for his charm and that adorable smirk, and the rest had been history. And now she was his again.

Dean grinned as he leaned up against the doorway to Carmen's bedroom, watching her sleep. It was only a matter of time before she fell for him, a matter of time before she was so in love that the truth wouldn't really matter. She wouldn't care what he did, she would just care about _him_. She would love him for everything, even his flaws.

He chose to ignore a small noise that sounded from the kitchen. He just focused on everything that was to come. She would make good on her promise and they would start a family of their own. He would move in with her and have someplace to go home to after a long day's work. He would get what he wanted for a change, instead of catering to Sammy's every whim.

Another thunk from the kitchen went ignored as Dean's mind wandered to his brother. He would have to go back to feed the man. How long could a person go without food before dying? When had they eaten last? Dean had had dinner with Carmen after locking Sam away, but he couldn't remember breakfast or lunch. They'd spent most of the day speculating about Dave's killer. Sam had been too disgusted by the crime to even talk about food.

The day before had been spent cleaning. Maybe they'd had breakfast. Maybe not. Lunch and dinner had been overlooked, though, he was sure of that.

In other words, Sam hadn't eaten in nearly two days.

"Sucks for him," Dean whispered as something in the kitchen fell, creating a loud shattering sound. Grumbling under his breath, Dean turned away from Carmen's room and headed to his own sleeping quarters.

Still mumbling to himself, Dean picked his way through the debris in his room, heading for the duffle bag he'd set on the dresser. He pulled the bag open and began digging around inside, searching for his patented poltergeist removal kit.

After a few seconds of digging, Dean came across the four bags of herbs and the hatchet he would need. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure nobody was watching, he waded through the pillows, pictures, and blankets that were scattered across the floor to the farthest side of the room. He began hacking away at the wall with his hatchet, hoping that the ghost was as stupid as it was cowardly, and stuck the bag inside.

"East down," he muttered, standing up and heading out of the room, "three more to go."

He walked down to the end of the hallway and punched a nice little hole in the wall as something else crashed in the kitchen. He shoved the bag in and headed down the stairs to the living room.

The third bag went in without a hitch and Dean turned toward the doorway to the kitchen. "All right," he said quietly, "let's see what you've got."

He walked into the kitchen, proudly brandishing his hatchet and the final bag. The cabinets began to shake, their doors rattling, as he crossed the room to the final corner of the house. "West," he muttered, making a hole in the wall. He held up the bag and smiled, placing it in the hole just as Carmen, who'd been roused by all the noise, entered the kitchen and the poltergeist decided to fight back.

The door slammed shut behind the model as Dean was thrown across the room into the refrigerator door and a bright white light spread from the hole he'd cut in the plaster. Carmen screamed as the body of the hunter slid slowly down from her appliance and landed in a heap on the floor.


	11. 10: The Most Honest I've Ever Been

OK. I have to thank everyone who's gone on this incredibly wild ride with me. Originally, I wasn't even going to write this story. I had the basic concept from "The Picture" and I knew that some people wanted me to expand on the story. I even had a rough idea, this idea that Dean gets his wish and his dream life, only this time in reality.

One thing that made me write this story is my love for Psycho!Dean. Like Ben from Dark Angel, or the shifter from Skin. It turns me on. Having him kill Dave and tie Sam up was fun for me. I know, I'm kinda sadistic like that :)

So, the story's been fun for me, and, in case you were wondering, this is the final chapter. There is an epilogue, which I'll try to post tomorrow, and it will wrap everything up, explain some things, and reveal the TRUE reason I wrote this story, the scene that made me do it. I'm glad you guys have enjoyed it so far and hope that I haven't scared you too much. Thanks for reading and reviewing

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_The Most Honest I've Ever Been_

"What the hell was that?" Carmen demanded as Dean opened his eyes and looked around. He was lying on the couch in the living room with the model hovering over him, her eyes scared.

"That was, uh," he muttered, sitting up and rubbing the large bump that had formed on the back of his head, "that was a poltergeist being banished from your house."

She sat down. "What?"

"Yeah, you heard me. A poltergeist. It's German for noisy spirit or something. It's what trashed your house."

Carmen shook her head. "You got hurt. You hit your head. I'm calling a doctor."

"I'm telling the truth, and you know it. You saw that flash of light, right? That was the house being purified."

"That's impossible. Things like that-"

"How else can you explain it?"

She shook her head again. "No. It's not-"

"There are a lot of things out there in the dark, Carmen," Dean admitted, pushing himself into a sitting position and scooting closer to her. He reached out and took her hand. "I should know. One of those things killed my parents."

She pulled her hand back. "Who are you?"

"Name's Dean," he grinned, "Dean Winchester."

"You're crazy."

"If you really thought that, you'd have run out of the house screaming by now. Just hear me out, ok?"

Carmen nodded. "Fine, but if you try to pull anything, I should warn you that I have a black belt."

"Fair enough. I told you my dad hunted, right? Big, scary things? What you just saw was one of those big, scary things. He trained me and my brother to hunt, too. Sam and I, it's what we do."

"Sam's your brother?"

"Yeah, he is. We look for different jobs, and when I saw the newspaper article about your house, I had to come."

"You knew what it was?"

He nodded, his stomach suddenly tied in knots, his mouth dry. It was the moment of truth, and he knew it. He also knew that he shouldn't have been so nervous. She loved him. She wouldn't care how he'd come across the article, just that he'd saved her.

"I have something I need to tell you," he began slowly, reaching out again and taking her hand. He locked eyes with her. "It's gonna sound crazy, but I need you to listen. It'll all make sense by the end, and you'll see that everything happens for a reason."

"What?"

He took a deep breath, and plunged right in. "A couple of weeks ago, my brother and I were hunting a genie in Illinois. I went after it alone, thinking I could take it, and it attacked me. It granted my wish."

She nodded. "What did you wish for?"

"My mom. My mom, and everything that came with her. My dad was at peace and my brother was happy and I had a home. I had a girlfriend who really loved me and didn't care that I wasn't perfect, because I was perfect to her. And she was perfect to me." He reached out and pushed a stray strand of hair behind Carmen's ear. "She still is."

Carmen's eyes widened and she pulled back a bit. "What are you trying to say?"

Dean smiled. "It was you. You are the girl of my dreams."

She shook her head, scooting away from him. "That doesn't make any sense. I never even met you before the other day."

"That's because it wasn't really a wish. The genie did something to me, like some sort of acid trip. It was all a dream, Carmen, everything but you. I had to get out, or it would have killed me. I gave up everything I wanted to come back here, and when I saw your ad in the magazine…"

"You thought I'd just welcome you in with open arms?"

"No. No. I knew you could love me, though. I knew that I could have something with someone and it wouldn't get taken away. Please. Just give me a chance. I know you'll love me. We were meant for each other. You're the one."

"Dean," Carmen began, shaking her head, "I'm sorry. Things don't work like that."

"Just… just once. Please, I'm being honest with you, I'm telling you the truth. I've never told anyone this much, not even Sam. You have to give me a chance. Please. I want to be happy."

"I can't do it. It's too soon. Dave-"

"Dave's dead. You have to move on."

"No. You need help. You're, I don't know, obsessed or something. What would your brother say if he knew?"

"He'd call me crazy."

"It was a dream," she explained carefully, "and I can't love you."

"This isn't the way it's supposed to go."

"Please leave," Carmen said softly, hanging her head as she stood up, "go get your things, leave, and don't come back. I'm sorry."

"So am I," Dean muttered, standing and heading toward the stairs. He stopped suddenly and turned, flashing a quick smile. "Hey, you know what? How about I give you my cell number, and if you ever change your mind you can give me a call and I'll rush right over."

"Dean-"

"I don't want you to be alone forever."

"I won't. I'll find someone."

He nodded, jotting his cell number down on an old receipt he'd found in his jacket pocket. "I know. Everyone has a soul mate." He handed her the paper. "I'll be back when you need me."

He turned back toward the stairs, confident that she would realize her mistake in time, and grabbed his bag from his room. "I'll see you, then," he grinned, waving at Carmen as he left the house, heading back to the motel room and his starving brother.

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Epilogue tomorrow. And remember... Sanity is in the eye of the beholder... 


	12. Epilogue: In The Eye Of The Beholder

This is it, huh? The end of the story. I'd just like to thank everyone who bothered to read and review, becuase it really does mean a lot to me :)**

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**Epilogue**

_In The Eye Of The Beholder_

FBI Special Agent Victor Henrickson was excited. It hadn't even taken a month to track the Winchester brothers, a task made that much easier by the building one of them was currently being housed in.

He hadn't believed the doctor from Joliete, Illinois when the man had first called. Hadn't believed that the brothers had made a mistake so big, that one of them had actually been committed. The doctor had seen the boys on an episode of America's Most Wanted and called right away. It was a blessing for the agent, who could finally take a break from the hunt.

"Tell me again what happened?" he asked, scaring the small, balding doctor who was leading him through the twisting hallways of the asylum.

"Well," the doctor said, pushing his large glasses back up his nose, "as far as we know, the brothers checked into a motel room in the city about three weeks ago. The manager said that they would come and go like any normal visitors. They went to bars, went out driving, went-"

"I get the point," Henrickson interrupted, "just get on with the reason we're here."

The doctor nodded. "Ok. Um, there was a period of about three days when the brothers didn't leave the room and the manager started to worry. Occupants in the other rooms reported an awful smell, and after almost a week of complaints, the motel manager called the cops. They broke down the door, and do you know what they found?"

"Let's keep the guessing games to a minimum, please."

"Right. Well, they found out that the source of the smell was one of the brothers. He was laid out on the bed with the other one curled up beside his body."

"He was dead?"

The doctor nodded again, his glasses shaking up and down as he did so. "Sure was."

"You know why?"

"Originally, they thought it was a mixture of starvation and dehydration. He was pale and sickly and didn't look too good at all. Then they noticed the mark on his neck. Just a small cut. Maybe a pinprick or a scratch from a fingernail or something. It was infected."

"He died of an infection?"

"Yes, sir."

"And they brought the live one here?"

The doctor nodded again, catching his glasses as they finally fell off. "Yep."

"Why?' Henrickson asked.

"It's complicated. He was catatonic. Just curled up in a ball, crying sometimes, mumbling other times."

"What was he mumbling?"

The doctor shrugged. "His brother's name, mostly. Early yesterday, though, he started saying 'Carmen.' That mean anything to you?"

Henrickson shook his head as they neared the young man's padded cell. "You can't get anything else out of him?"

"Nope. And we've tried."

The agent looked in through the small window on the door, his eyes falling on the pale young man who lay curled up on the white bed. "What do you think it is? What's wrong?"

The doctor shrugged again. "Beats me. I'd say the shock of his brother's death was too much for him. The way he talks sometimes, it's like he thinks his brother's still there. We think he might have created a sort of dream world, one where Dean never died and they just kept running."

Henrickson nodded. "It's a shame," he said, turning from the door, "the kid was smart. Had a full ride to Stanford and everything." He walked back down the corridor, his shoes clicking on the tile, the small doctor running along behind him. Neither man noticed as Sam's face lit up with a smile as he welcomed his brother back, questioning him about what had happened with Carmen.

* * *

Well, there it is. Questions? Comments? Complaints? I'd love to hear your final thoughts! 


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